


La Vie Boheme

by Gabethebabe



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: (halsey voice) everyone is gay, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Protective Parents, Trans Character, trans boy dylan - Freeform, trans girl Alek/Sophie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabethebabe/pseuds/Gabethebabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To loving tension, no pension, to more than one dimension. To starving for attention hating convention, hating pretension. Not to mention of course hating dear old mom and dad.<br/>To riding your bike midday past the three piece suits. To fruits, to no absolute.<br/>To Absolute, to choice, to the Village Voice. To any passing fad.<br/>To being an us for once<br/>Instead of a them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> My writing style is light editing aesthetics with softcore no beta'd accents. (So sorry in advanced for any mistakes- feel free to tell me about them).  
> Anyway- enjoy the garbage that came from my brain. I wrote this for www.thequeenpatches.tumblr.com !!!!!!! her blog is top quality so go follow her !!!!!!!

She had long since earned the reputation for being an ice cold bitch, but she had long since stopped caring.

She couldn’t remember the exact moment she’d been branded that- the exact act that had been the nail on the coffin of her social life- no matter how hard she thought back through her last two years in the Leviathan Academy for fine arts. Perhaps it was the way she spent the better half of freshman year turning down invitations for drink ups and parties in favor of practice. (Granted, most of that was the doing of her overbearing godfather not allowing her to be out passed 10, but they wouldn’t know that). Or perhaps it was how she’d bested all the other girls in her class without so much as a shocked face when it was announced that she, once again, had gotten the lead in their upcoming production. Or perhaps-

Her balance faltered mid step, causing her foot to wiggle out from under her. Next thing she knew, she was face first on the studio floor. Her aforementioned godfather, and instructor, sighed above her.

“And what was your fault this time, Sophie?” His harsh Austrian accent bounced off the mirrored walls. She avoided eye contact as she sat up.

“I was distracted.”

Any other day she might have held her head up- might have said that she was human and therefore she was allowed to have mistakes- but today found her face burning and gaze adverted. She took her hair out of it’s sagging bun in order to redo it- make it tighter and cleaner just as her movements needed to be.

“What is so important that it should distract you from practice?” Volger’s tone was stern, but not harsh. Sophie would have sworn that she even detected a hint of concern if she hadn’t given up trying to read the man long ago.

“Trivial matters.” She stood quickly, brushing the floor’s dust off of her bodysuit and leggings.

Volger shifted his weight to lean against the doorframe as he spoke. He seemed impatient- no tired- no worried? Sophie was never able to truly tell. “And what do I say about trivial matters, Miss Ferdinand?”

Her voice faulted her a moment. She caught sight of an all too familiar blonde head of hair retreating from the very door frame Volger had been leaning against. _Sharp. Has he been watching me? Has he been skipping classes again?_

“Miss Sharp?” Volger asked once more, the already lacking harsh edge gone all together.

“To not let trivial matter into the mind because the mind is the captain of the body, and if the captain is distracted then the vessel is doomed for failure.” She repeated automatically. His lessons were repetitive but knowledgeable. By now she could quote him easier than she could the Lord’s Prayer.

“Yes. Very good, but-” He stood and walked over to the room. His height of 6’3, when combined with his sharp features and unwavering determination, often frightened people, but it only brought Sophie comfort. A comfort she’d never admit- a feeling of familial love that was far too vulnerable to be distorted with words. He was kneeling in front of her now. He never kneels, why was he kneeling? And furthermore- when did he cross the room? Had Sophie truly been so lost in her own thought? “-if this is anything to do with...personal issues I want you to know that I understand. Did something happen?”

Sophie’s chest ached a little at the words. She knew “personal issues” meant her being trans, and that it truly had been concern that she detected in his voice before. Since her coming out, Volger’s overprotective nature had only grown stronger.

She shook her head and crossed the room. “It is nothing like that. I assure you.”

“Very well then.” He said in a final sounding manner, but Sophie could feel his eyes on her as she got back in first position. “From the top.”

*

Dylan shuffled out of the dance studio as fast as his feet could take him, yet with no real hurry. Once he’d gotten out of eyesight of that horrid instructor he was fine.

_Or not-_

His phone started to buzz violently in his pocket. He knew that it was probably Bauer asking why he wasn’t in Advanced studio arts 104, so he pulled out his phone to send him a succession of emoji’s that would- in the politest way possible- tell him to fuck off. But when he saw a text from the very girl he’d skipped class to talk to, he nearly dropped his phone.

_Sophie: Stop skipping class to stare at me._

_Dylan: I wasn’t staring. I did actually have a purpose for being there._

_Sophie: I’m sure, Mr. Sharp._

Dylan smiled down at his phone. Sophie- when she wanted to be- could turn her tongue into a deadly weapon. Especially when she got riled up.

Lucky for him, he knew just what buttons to push, and he could usually tell that he had done so when she started calling him “Mr. Sharp.”.

_Sophie: Well, what is it then? What did you need?_

_Dylan: A double text, Miss Ferdinand? Desperate much?_

_Sophie: Mr. Sharp, do remind me why I don’t block your number._

_Dylan: Probably because I’m just too barking handsome ;)_

He put his phone in his pocket to jog across the street and into his dorm hall. As he made his way inside he made sure to jump up and hit the sign that read **Fitzroy Dormitory. Establish in 2013.** A habit that was equal parts for good luck and to piss off his dormmate, Robert. Dylan didn’t exactly see how it was fair that he got to be pissed off all the time, after all the only reason he was here was because his dad paid for a new amphitheater and parking lot in addition to the dorms. _Spoiled brat._

The dorms were sat up to be like small apartments. Each had a small kitchen and living room at the center, and then two hallways leading off of either side. Down those hallways were two bedrooms on either side and one bathroom. Dylan and Newkirk each had a room on the right side. Robert and Tyndall, the _“just friends”_ of the bunch, shared a room, and Joseph took up the remaining one.

Dylan kicked off his shoes instantly upon stepping inside the door- as to avoid Newkirk’s scolding. He shed his jacket and bag, throwing them onto the kitchen’s island before crashing on the couch.

His phone buzzed right after he reached for the T.V. remote.

_Sophie: Tell me what you need or I- I- I don’t know. I’ll do something._

He imagined her flustered- red hair frizzied like it usually was after practice and face red with frustration. He smiled a little at the image.

_Dylan: I’d rather ask in person it’s a bit...well to be honest it seems like a barking sleazy thing to ask over the phone. Maybe we could meet for lunch?_

_Sophie: Oh, so the mysterious favor is too sleazy to text about but asking me to lunch isn’t?_

Dylan saw her typing still so he put down his phone and flicked through the channels as he waited.

_Sophie: Seeing as you skipped your afternoon class to leer at me, I take it that you’re free. I am too. Meet me at the Little Istanbul Cafe in an hour._

He smiled. He didn’t know a lot about her godfather, but from what little he did know, he knew that she sometimes she acted far too much like him for her own good.

_Dylan: Didn’t it used to be the little Constantinople Cafe?_

_Sophie: I suppose they changed the name for relevancy purposes. Especially since Constantinople hasn’t been a real place in hundreds of years._

_Dylan: But it’s on all the campus maps as Constantinople._

_Sophie: Do you want to meet me there for lunch, or do you want to argue over business decisions? Because I’ll have you know that I’m quite well versed for both._

Dylan outwardly sighed as he typed, but he wore a large smile. Okay, so, maybe Sophie knew how to get him going just as easily as he got her going.

_Dylan: See you at noon_

He contemplated changing before he remembered that he didn’t have anything other than black skinny jeans and dye/paint stained t-shirts. But he could maybe throw on a nice cardigan- maybe break out the expensive cologne his rich aunt had gotten him for his birthday.

_Sophie: This isn’t a date, just so you know._

_Dylan: This isn’t not a date. Just so you know. ;)_

Sophie’s only reply after that was an eyeroll emoji, so he took the hint and got up to get ready. He brushed his blonde hair, which was almost long enough to reach his cheekbones by now, and put in his lucky nosering.

“Got a date, then?” Newkirk asked as he shoved passed Dylan to wash clay off of his hands. His accent was incredibly northern- more so than it normally was- so Dylan guessed that he’d just gotten off the phone with his mother.

“A not not date.” He corrected, going the three total steps it took to get from the bathroom area to his room. He threw on a plaid overshirt, hoping the pattern of his tie dye didn’t clash with it (it did). “How’s your ma?”

“Eh.” Newkirk made a vague noise over the sound of running water, and Dylan saw him shrug outside of the room’s doorway. “Same as always I guess. Thinks everyone around her is a bunch of heathens. Thinks I’m going to find a nice girl and settle down.”

“She’ll get over that eventually.” Dylan said sympathetically. He looked away from his friend and to his walls- which were covered in postered that ranged from everything from Van Gogh prints to _Heather: The Musical_ to Fall Out Boy. He frowned a bit when he saw a red streak across a few of them- how in the hell did he managed to get paint there too?

“Yeah, I mean, well, er-” The water stopped. Dylan stuck his head out the room in time to catch newkirk drying his hands on what looked like one of Joseph’s work shirts. “She can’t exactly get over it if I haven’t told her.”

“Oh.” Was all Dylan could say. Oh. He’d never been all that good at advice outside of offering a few words of person-specific encouragement. “She’ll be fine, then. When you tell her, I mean.” Great now he sounded like fucking yoda.

“Yeah. I hope.” Newkirk nodded and started off back to his room. “Tyndall- Joseph- and I are gonna be out t’night.”

Dylan took advantage of the opportunity to tease his friend- hoping to brighten the mood by waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He was met with a wet clay covered ramones shirt slapping him in the face. “NOT like that. We’re just going out- as friends- to see the midnight premiere of _Hardcore Henry_.”

Dylan doubted that Newkirk actually knew the title of the movie they were going to go see, and that he had just picked the most stereotypically masculine movie he could think of.

“Right, I’m sure.” Dylan shot him a cheeky grin and made his way towards the door. “See you, Eugene.”

“See you, bumrag.”

Dylan chucked to himself as ducked out of the door. Sure Hans would be pissed that he ditched class again, but he had managed to score a date (a not not date, actually) with Sophie. So it was worth it. Probably. Unless Hans gave him another speech on “distractions”, then it probably wouldn’t be all that worth it in the end.

 


	2. Frozen Water On Soft Mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Lilit will recount her exploits as an anarchist  
> Including the tale of her successful reprogramming  
> Of the M.I.T. virtual reality equipment  
> To self-destruct as it broadcast the words  
> Actual reality, act up, fight the system

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost my beta (to parenthood. ew.) so I've been having to edit everything myself these past few months. That being said, sorry for any mistakes and all that :/   
> I hope you all like it!! And I hope you all like my characterization.

Freshman year Dylan hated the Little Constan-  _ or _ \- Little Istanbul cafe. The smell of it had made his nose crinkle and sent him into a sneezing fit. The spices in the food had made him want to chop off his own tongue. The coffee- something art students relied on to keep living- had made his body practically shut down with its bitterness.  

But junior year Dylan? Junior year Dylan  _ loved  _ the Little Istanbul cafe. And not just because of the not-not date that he was having in it today- he loved it because his best friend, Lilit’s, dad was the general manager. Which, yes, meant free food when one or both of them were working.

He had learned to cope with the spices in the air after one too many late night study session (“study sessions” really meaning reading out the answers to an academic class’ study guide outloud as Lilit cleaned up after the cafe’s last customers). 

“Dylan.” Lilit smiled at him cooly when he entered. Before he could ask about where to sit, Lilit was already setting down her armful of dirty dishes and dragging him back to a booth in her section. “Did you read the email I sent out?” 

_ No.  _ He wanted to say, because who had the time to read about the 4  (yes, four) emails that she sent out a week in her student union newsletter. But he couldn’t say  _ no  _ without seeming like a jerk, so he just nodded. 

“Aye, I can’t believe it.” He hoped that frustration was the right response- judging by the way her professional “service with a smile” smile was barely masking her signature scowl it was, anyway. 

“I know! I have worked- my  _ father  _ has worked- here for nearly 5 years and they want to lower our pays? Do you know that I’ll be making a fourth of what minimum wage is if they do that?” 

Dylan scoffed, silently doing the numbers in his mind. Lilit was smart- smarter than anyone he’d ever met- and just as passionate. She was at this school on a scholarship for her creative writing talent, and she was in this country on a student’s visa. Less pay meant working more which meant studying less which meant- 

“You’ve got to get the other workers together. You’ve got to organize.” 

She smiled and squeezed his hand as they passed a table of chatting professors. “That’s what I was thinking. I mean, it’s not just me that this is affecting. This cafe employs nearly 12% of the student population at this school.” 

Their school was small- like, microscopic compared to most art schools, which was saying something. Dylan didn’t say that, of course, because whether this pay cut effected 40 people or 400 people it still mattered. It still mattered because it still mattered to Lilit. 

“I would make some comment about rich people being utter clart heads, but- uh- I’m sort of meeting the princess herself for lunch.” 

_ Princess  _ had become their code name for Sophie over the years. She acted like it, sure, but the nickname was forged more out of Dylan’s initial need to keep his crush a secret than out of spite for her socioeconomic status. (Okay and maybe a little bit of spite for her the attitude she’d had freshman year too, but Dylan would die before admitting that now.) 

“Oh, big man? Finally got around to asking her out on a date?” 

“A not-not date.” Dylan corrected, grinning date or  _ not-not date _ because Sophie-  _ Princess Sophie-  _ had agreed to meet him for lunch. 

Lilit rolled her eyes at him. “Men are ridiculous. Every last one of you.” She stopped suddenly, so suddenly that Dylan almost crashed into her. “Here’s your booth, Romeo. I’ll take your drink order when she gets here.” 

“Thanks, Lily of the valley.” He smiled and she rolled her eyes at his old nickname for her. 

“I seriously worry about my ocular health around you.” 

“If you plan on rolling your eyes every time I saw something witty, then I would too. I mean, I am a genius after all.”

She rolled her eyes in an even more exaggerated manner just as the front door opened with its usual loud creak. 

Dylan craned his neck back to see a familiar aubren top knot bun above a familiar pair of green eyes entering. 

“Let’s hope Marie Antoinette tips well.” Lilit smiled her work smile at Sophie as she left, the two passing each other gave Dylan a weird feeling. Like two different worlds coming together. Maybe he could do an abstract piece on that-  the dark reds and golds and colors of passion that Lilit normally adorned herself with blending with the light, sensible and careful, colors that Sophie wore. 

“I have hoped that you wouldn’t flirt with our waitress on our not-not date.” Sophie said in a way that Dylan might describe as sassy if he hadn’t grown to hate the word. Sophie, she could really set the tone for things right off the bat. 

“I wasn’t flirting. Lilit’s just a friend.” He said seriously. She didn’t look all too disappointed that he didn’t take the bait for banter- if anything she looked a little relieved at at what he had said, but he was convinced that he was just flattering himself. 

“I’m sure you said that to all the girls.” She picked up a menu to hide her embarrassment. He could tell from her rigid posture- even more rigid than usual- that she wasn’t comfortable. He wondered if it was him that was making her uncomfortable or the socialization. If the rumors about her were true, than it was the later. The girl barely did anything other than practice.  

He hoped rumors of her were true. He hoped that it was the later. 

“So, what is this favor?” Voice precise and demanding. Soft and sure. Her usual voice, Dylan smiled, that was the her he liked. The real her that was comfortable. 

Of course, the discomfort that he’d noticed sort of threw a wrench in his plans. He had to ask this at the right time for it to go over well (if it had even the slightest chance of going over well).  

“Just jumping right into it, then?” He faux-pouted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not that kind of boy, Sophie. 

“Mr. Sharp you are trying my patience.” She pursed her lips, but Dylan sae mirth in her eyes. He could have sworn that he had overheard her instructor, Volger, tell her something along the same lines when they were arguing about a routine. 

“We wouldn’t want that now. How about we try some kuskus instead?” 

She put down her menu and Dylan tried not to look at her newly revealed cleavage. “Fine.” 

“Your shirt looks nice- I mean- I like the color on you. Blush pink- it compliments your hair and your eyes well.” 

The blush pink wasn’t reserved just to her shirt, it would seem, as her cheeks flushed after the compliment. “Thank you. But if you are trying to flatter me, know that your skill as a painter will not do anything for you.” 

“Noted.” He smirked and the flush spread to her ears.

“So you are trying to flatter me then?” Her voice was less accusatory than he would have thought it would have been, and that lack of negative emotion around the thought of him courting her gave him hope to continue. Her posture, too, seemed to have greatly relaxed. 

“Maybe.” 

Suspicion reached her eyes. “What is this favor you want?”

“So many questions, but if you must know-” 

Before he could finish, Lilit appeared notepad in hand. Dylan wondered if she had been hanging off to the side eavesdropping on them and waiting for just the right moment to interrupt. 

“Hi, you two know my name so please don’t call me Miss. You know the specials. I assume you’ve had drinks before in your life, so tell me what you want.” 

Dylan smiled, stretching out in the booth. “Well, Miss, what are the specials? I would like to hear about them in detail- oh! And your drink list. You see, I- a simple painter- can’t read.” 

Lilit glared down at him. He was going to pay for that sooner or later- he was sure of it. “Dylan, don’t make me pour hot coffee in your lap.” 

Lilit then turned to Sophie, a genuine smile curling across her face.  _ Not good.  _ Dylan thought in mild panic. He trusted Lilit not to say anything that would purposefully harm his chances with her (not too badly, anyway), but he didn’t trust her not to humiliate him completely. 

“In front of your pretty date too.” 

Sophie’s face turned a brighter shade of pink. 

“My not not date.” Dylan corrected. 

“Who is awaiting to know what favor you need.” Sophie pushed.

Dylan had never heard her talk this much before. Beyond being surprised, he felt himself falling in love with her accent. How could people say that the French accent was the most attractive when Austrains existed? He put his elbow on the table and then rested his hand on that arm’s palm- looking like the perfect picture of swooning. 

“You are staring- worse yet while propositioning me. Mr. Sharp, you are proving to be a most unsavory not-not lunch date.” 

“Miss!” A voice called from the other side of the room. Lilit rolled her eyes before putting back on her fake smile and saying 

“Just one moment, sir.” Then, turning back to them, “It’s bad enough that I have to serve this watered down white people’s version of Turkish food without the demanding customers who think that their watered down ice tea is more important than anything else in the world.” 

Dylan gave her a sympathetic half-smile. Sophie cocked her head to the side. “Why don’t you just quite then? If you hate it so much.”

“Not all of us have your family’s access to wealth.” Lilit sighed, sounding more exhausted than annoyed. She’d had to learn the hard way that, no matter how badly she wished to, she couldn’t solve the world’s problems. She could barely solve her own- even with a scholarship.

As for Sophie, she was now staring down at the table in front of her meekly, clearly embarrassed by her comment. 

Dylan cleared his throat, bringing Lilit’s attention back to him. “We’ll have Kuskus and two ice teas-” 

“-Water. No lemon.” Sophie said, almost a whisper. Her posture was rigid and it would seem the moment of awkwardness had forced her to go back in her shell.  _ Dammit.  _

“Kuskus, an ice tea, and a water no lemon. Please, Lily.” 

“Coming right up. If you’re lucky.” She finished scribbling down their order before walking off, her dark skin almost glowing under the golden light cast off the various lamps and chandeliers. 

Sophie followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. “I would appreciate you not to check out our waitress on our not-not date, Mr. Sharp.” 

Dylan looked back at her with what must have been the mushiest smile she had seen from him, because before he could make a joke she was firing back with “And I would appreciate if you could not stare at me.”

“I was looking at Lilit like one would look at an artistic subject.” He leaned back in their booth, raising his legs so that his feet were resting next to Sophie on the opposite booth. “I hope the thought of me looking at you doesn’t bother you too much.” 

“It might.” She looked down at her nails. Dylan noted that they were painted beige. Beige. Who paints their nails beige? Sophie does- god he loved Sophie. He loved beige. “Does this pertain to your favor.” 

“It might.” He relaxed against the velvet colored plush that was pushed against his back. “Would you say no?”

“No to what, Mr. Sharp? I cannot read your mind.” 

But she could. The color that had returned to her cheeks and the slight frown that was tugging at the side of her lips. She could and she was toying with him, wanting him to ask like this was some kind of game. 

“I was wondering, Miss Ferdinand,” He mirrored her posture, sitting up straight and proper. He then leaned on his elbows, voice low so she’d have to lean in to hear (he had read a romance novel or two in his time, for sure, but nothing he would ever admit to). “If you would be gracious enough to be the subject of my art project. I’ve got a special project- a special guideline for a specific type of subject matter that doesn’t matter- and I want you to be the muse.” 

“The muse?” Her face was nearly as red at the candle that set in the middle of the table. 

“The subject- whatever word you prefer.” Dylan looked away quickly. He’d been waiting all of 3 years to ask her out- he couldn’t imagine how much longer he would have to wait to ask something like this if his artistic career didn’t depend on it. “Please? It’s for my final.” 

When Dylan tried not to think about something, he could almost completely disassociate from the situation. He’d gotten good enough at that after his da...Well…

He was looking anywhere but at her. He prayed for Lilit to arrive with more jabs and distractions, but as it was she was being held up by the group of arguing professors demanding to know why she didn’t warn them about how spicy something was. He could see the look on her face- knew exactly what she was thinking.  _ Barking White People.  _ That’s what she was thinking. She would call Dylan- call she never texted- after work and complain about them and he’d listen and- 

“I will do it.” Sophie’s voice was so soft, so delicate that he almost hadn't heard it over his own thoughts. 

“Yeah? Really?” He couldn’t help the face splitting smile that was now on his face. 

Her face was red, her hands were holding each other tightly. The white of her knuckles showed. 

“Yes. Just...do not make me regret it.” That accent- thicker the more high strung that she got- flowed rigidly over soft vowels like freezing water against the soft mud in a river. 

“I can’t thank you enough.” Dylan was still smiling, but actively trying to make it less enthusiastic now. He didn’t want to scare her off.

“What do I need to do?” 

“Wear your favorite outfit, and we need a place for me to paint you. It would probably be an hour or two each day or a week.” 

“A week?” She crossed her arms suddenly drawing herself up like a cat whose paw had been stepped on. 

“At least.” He said, pulling his face into an awkward smile. He should have mentioned the sheer amount of time that this would take before asking her, he knew. Especially with the way that she spent hours practicing everyday. 

“Okay...okay…” She was thinking now, and Dylan let himself grow hopeful. There was something he had never seen in her eyes. 

Mischief. Mirth. A hint of rebellion. 

“We will have to do it at your dorm room.” Sophie’s voice was low, like she was sharing some government secret. “I will leave an outfit there to change into and I will go there right after practice. I will- I do not know. I will lie to Volger and tell him that we are having a study group over there.” 

Dylan didn’t know a lot about Sophie, but he did know that she had never lied to her godfather before.  _ Ever.  _ He let himself think about what that might mean for him and the future of his love life as Lilit returned, steaming plate in hand. 

“I would tell you that it’s hot, but I would should like to assume that you’ve eaten at a restaurant before.” She sat it down along with their drinks. Dylan would never know how she managed to carry so much at once without spilling it all over herself. 

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Don’t push it.” Lilit sighed, going back to dealing with the rest of her customers. Dylan didn’t watch her leave this time, instead turning his attention back to Sophie. 

“So...you’re in then?” 

“Yes. Or,” she picked up her fork with unbelievable grace. Dylan felt that he could be mesmerized by everything she did. Absolutely everything. “As you say. Aye.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr!  
> Leviathan sideblog: ask-midshipman-sharp.tumblr.com  
> Mainblog: wildecount.tumblr.com  
> Classics & random lit (Captive Prince, The Song of Achilles/The Iliad, and Lord of the Flies mainly): quidiximeigas.tumblr.com


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